


Inevitable

by happychica



Series: A Crystal Hewn From Stone [6]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Destroy Ending (Mass Effect), Family, Headcanon, Krogan, Krogan rebuilding, M/M, Mentions of Terrorism, Salarians, Tuchanka (Mass Effect), political repercussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happychica/pseuds/happychica
Summary: Anya drops home for a visit on a day Shepard had hoped would never come.
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard
Series: A Crystal Hewn From Stone [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148366
Kudos: 6





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place post-ME3 by about twenty-five years.
> 
> Anya is Liara and John's daughter (think sperm-donor), though she was raised both by Liara and by John and Kaidan. Believed to be a side-effect of Cerberus meddling in bringing Shepard back, Anya was born with some physical differences, the most obvious is her thick, black hair. She was born about five years after the end of the war.

“Oh, it’s so great to be home!” Anya stretched her arms out and over her head, back arched with enthusiasm. Her hair, trapped in its usual braid, swung gently. “The dry and the heat and the angry joy of our death planet.”

“Most people don’t like having their homes called a death planet,” Traynor commented.

“But Tuchanka is a death planet. For one cannot be reborn if one does not die.” Anya’s smile was all bite.

Traynor watched her, weighing her response. “Right.”

“Come on, you needed to see Dad.”

Bounding down the stairs from the observation platform, Anya led the way across the Grezelt Plaza. Built of the faded yellow stone mined near Clan Forsan’s territory, the structures were some of the youngest on Tuchanka. It backed up to the largest of the neutral landing zones, trading posts where any Clan who wanted to deal with off world commerce could streamline the customs process, and Anya’s preferred port of entry - too many galactic bigwigs through Clan Urdnot’s territory could cause diplomatic trouble. Coming through a mixed port helped establish connections for work, too. Anya had convinced Urdnot and Drau to let her document their histories, but she was hopeful there’d be others soon. Jorgal had its own detailed history and wasn’t about to let an outside mess with it, but the other Clans had traditions of their own – traditions that could be lost unless someone recorded things in a neutral, permanent way.

Traynor was looking around, marveling at the stalls and stores. “I don’t think I’ve ever come through this one.”

“Uncle Steve has clearance for Urdnot’s LZ, so he usually lands there.”

“It reminds me of place I visited on Earth, back before everything got leveled.”

Anya waved at a Krogan merchant who’d called a greeting. “I keep trying to get someone to open a café, but you’d think I was asking for a communal swimming pool.”

“Do Krogan not swim?”

Anya shrugged. “Supposedly. I think it’s just that anything a Salarian would enjoy,” she gestured dramatically, “no self-respecting Krogan would even try.”

“I see.” Traynor perked up as they reached the far end of the plaza. “Skycars?”

“For us tiny offworlders.”

Anya walked up to the Krogan in charge of the skycars. “Hey, Grol. Three days, Urdnot territory, I plan to fly it upside down through a herd of Pyjaks.”

“Bring it back covered in dung and I’ll hang you by that weird rope on your head,” the old Krogan growled, but there was no real heat. Anya had only every brought a skycar back damaged once, and Grol had laughed so hard at her misunderstanding Varren mating instincts that he’d agreed not to blacklist her. “Going to see your brood-father?”

“You know it.”

“Tell your brother he still owes me those six cases of shotgun ammo.” Grol punched something into his console. “Take the blue one. Just got it back from the mechanics.” Her omni-tool glowed as it received the authorization.

Anya nudged Traynor as they walked over to their ride. “I hope you weren’t hoping to drive; Grol is very strict about who operates the vehicle and he always finds out.”

“I’ve always appreciated the autopilot and self-driving features of modern planet-side travel,” Traynor said.

“You and Uncle Joker.”

The ride out to Urdnot territory was beautiful. Greenery and plant life were limited on Tuchanka, growing mostly near sheltered waterways and in cultivated areas. Maybe it was that she’d grown up here, but Anya loved the open wasteland. Huge areas opened to the sky gave way to shelter and safety. Boulders and collapsed buildings signaled life, places people had put effort into, determined to continue existing no matter what the world threw at them. Krogan culture stressed strength, fortitude, durability, but the drive to survive didn’t have to be ugly.

“This place is almost as red as Mars.”

“But with a breathable atmosphere.”

Traynor laughed. “I wonder if they’d be offended to know there was a planet less hospitable than Tuchanka.”

“Mars doesn’t have Thresher Maws.”

“Yet.” Traynor face darkened. “Those things didn’t get to other planets by chance.”

“Better Mars than Earth.”

“Better planets nobody lives on, or that have solid stone sections where you know you’re safe.”

Anya laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Traynor spent the rest of the ride staring out the window, ignoring her companion. Anya liked the Comms Specialist, but sometimes Traynor mystified her. How could someone so ruthless in strategy games, who’d helped beat the Reapers, who’d given Urdnot Barak the greatest tongue-lashing Aralakh Company had yet seen, be worried about a giant worm?

Anya’s attention was drawn back outside the car as her childhood home came into view. A solid, two-story building that everyone in her family could find blind-drunk or bleeding out. Thick walls that kept the internal temperature comfortable even during the hottest months, large windows that could be flung open to catch a breeze, and porches that were weirdly small but still great for reading Dad’s collection of paperback books.

Pulling the skycar around behind the large boulder that marked the edge of where she could roam as a child, Anya felt her cheeks ache with the smile. Traynor retrieved her bag from the backseat as the skycar door opened. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I promise not to get lost on the one path up to the house.”

Traynor had barely finished before Anya took off. She pounded up the hard-packed dirt, hopping over the smaller rocks that marked the two lower switchbacks, swinging happily around the taller rock that marked the third. Charging up to the front door, Anya jumped the two steps onto the porch itself.

“Dad! Uncle Kaidan! I’m home!” She could hear Traynor chuckle father down the path. Anya looked around, taking in the weather-beaten chairs and heavy-duty containers on the front porch. She remembered the panic in Kaidan’s voice the day she’d hidden in one of those containers. She’d thought it a great hiding place, having completely forgotten to announce she was playing hide-n-seek to anyone. When Kaidan had found her, she’d babbled about her cleverness while he held her, carrying her around their home until he could breathe, again.

She waited until Traynor caught up to go inside. The door slid open, revealing the bright space inside. When her fathers had moved to Tuchanka, everyone had gifted them fabric to soften the Alliance building they’d planned for. The Krogan had taken one look at the funny little cubes and declared they’d build an Earth-style home for their hero – and they had. Thick, Quarian drapes colored the sitting areas, fabric from dozens of Pilgrimages stitched together in unique patterns. Delicate Asari tapestries hung high on the walls with shimmering, almost invisible patterns. Thick rugs with Krogan patterns were scattered around the floor, matching the tones of assorted Earth blankets on the backs of the couches. Even Uncle Garrus had sent a Turian shawl, pattern stark and fabric rough, which had been used to decorate a chest of drawers until she’d spotted it one day and refused to sleep under anything else for two years. Walking into the front room brought back memories of holidays and riotous parties and happy, ridiculous people.

“Dad! Uncle Kaidan?”

“Maybe they’re not home.”

Anya glanced over her shoulder as she walked between the couches –widely spaced for large visitors. “You don’t yell for your parents?”

“Do you yell for Dr. T’soni?”

“Of course not. I’d scare the bejesus out of Feron.”

“The what?”

“Old Earth word.” Anya slung her bag, punching the air when it landed neatly on the stair landing. “I like the sound of it.”

“Joker?”

“James.”

“Not Uncle James?”

Anya hunched her shoulders. “James and Jack don’t like to be reminded they’re old.”

“Commander Vega can lift a skycar!”

Anya shrugged. “I imagine I’m the only Asari worried about turning thirty.”

Walking into the kitchen, Anya tugged on her braid. She’d been growing her hair out, trying to see how long her genetic anomaly could get. Opening the door to the fridge, she scanned the shelves and exhaled. The best thing about visiting Tuchanka was homecooked meals, and inevitably, leftovers. Mom had never learned how to cook, and while she had centuries ahead of her, Anya didn’t think it was on the To Do list. Dad and Uncle Kaidan loved to cook, and anytime Jack visited, dinner became an event.

“Find anything good?”

“Must be grocery day,” Anya muttered. “Lots of ingredients, but nothing already made.”

“Do you cook?”

“I am my mother’s daughter. Too busy being nosy and nerdy to mess with food prep. Not to mention using biotics is exhausting, so you get used to eating power bars.”

“I tried one of those once,” Traynor set her bag on the counter that functioned as their table, pushing a bar stool out of her way. “They’re awful.”

“You get used to it.” Looking around the kitchen, Anya frowned. “Hey, anybody home?”

“Just me, sweetheart.”

Shutting the fridge, Anya walked back around the counter. “Dad?”

Shepard was sitting on the floor, back against the wall that divided the sitting area from the rest of the house. One hand was clenched tight around something, tension emphasizing the crow’s feet around his closed eyes. His legs were pulled up, feet flat on the floor, arms balanced on his knees. “Did we know you were coming today?”

“No, I thought I’d surprise you.” Anya crouched in front Shepard, arms wrapped around her knees. “Where’s Uncle Kaidan?”

“At the compound. He’s covering for Jack today.”

“Is she OK?”

“Just helping Dr. Michel with something in the lab.”

Traynor shot Anya an uncertain look. “Hello, Commander.”

“Hey, Traynor. Did I know you were coming?”

“No, sir. Just dropping off some information from Alliance HQ.”

“It hand to be hand-delivered?”

“The Normandy is passing through this system - seemed the fastest way back to the ship.” Traynor tried for levity. “And there might have been another trifle to enjoy.”

Shepard gave a tight smile. “Knew I forgot something.”

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Anya laid her hand over Shepard’s fist. “Bakara’s crystal?”

Shepard turned his hand over, relaxing his fingers to show the cloudy white stone. Her dad had been gifted that crystal during the war; usually it sat on their mantlepiece, pride of place in a shallow blue plate that Aunt Tali had given him. Dad only took the crystal down on the bad days.

Shepard turned the crystal around in his grasp, eyes still closed. “Don’t worry too much. I’ll be fine.”

“You want me to call Uncle Kaidan?”

“He’ll be home soon.”

“Did something happen?”

Shepard sighed. “Just…bad news.”

“Must be really bad news.” Looking around, Anya spotted a datapad half under a chair. Traynor stepped over to retrieve it.

Shepard looked at his hands. “Trouble on one of the colony worlds.”

The usual high-pitched clicks as Traynor scanned through the report. “Looks like an attack on one of the reclaimed Salarian planets.”

“We should probably be grateful it didn’t happen sooner.” Shepard’s voice was steady.

“What didn’t happen, Dad?”

“STG is accusing a splinter faction of a nearby Krogan colony of terrorism,” Traynor summarized. “It does look like revenge for the Genophage.”

“Revenge for the Genophage?”

“Before you were born,” Shepard explained, voice soft with an old exhaustion, “every Krogan alive had the Genophage. It was designed to limit the population and made having kids riskier than it should have been. During the Reaper War, to forge an alliance with the Krogan, we cured the Genophage.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” Shepard lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “It was a good thing. It was a very good thing.”

“But there was always a concern that the Krogan would strike back at the Salarians or Turians for infecting them in the first place,” Traynor explained.

“But they haven’t tried to take revenge before now.”

Traynor frowned down at the datapad. “The Dalatrass was worried the Krogan would breed an army, sweep across the galaxy in a wave of blood and violence, and wipe out any who opposed them.”

“Horrible woman.” Shepard dropped his hand back to his knee. “A war seemed more likely. If the Krogan choose revenge, we thought they would focus on the Salarians and Turians. The hope was that, by the time any Krogan group was organized enough to retaliate, they’d no longer want to. That more level-headed minds would prevail.”

“Grandpa Wrex never said anything about killing people,” Anya whispered.

“Clan Urdnot is officially against revenge,” Shepard said. “Neither Wrex nor Bakara wants more bloodshed. They’re both trying to rebuild the Krogan.”

“They both put a lot of work into convincing the other Clans not to act on their anger, to put their energy into rebuilding Tuchanka and the Krogan people,” Traynor continued.

“But somebody attacked the Salarians.”

“A few days ago, a localized bombardment killed thousands, effectively wiping out that population center. Evidence suggests the Krogan.” Traynor was still reading, brow furrowed. “What are all these additional files?”

“Letters, complaints, I-told-you-sos.” Shepard swallowed. “That report came from the Salarian Union. If she’s still alive, I assume it was compiled by a particular Dalatrass.”

“That’s cruel.”

“They feel vindicated. The human who wouldn’t listen to their wiser counsel.”

Anya looked between them. “What happens now?”

Traynor looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we can’t let another war break out.” Anya leaned forward, landing on her knees. “How do we stop them? Are the Salarians going to retaliate? Does Tuchanka…formally disavow knowledge?”

“If Wrex comes out too strongly against this splinter group, he might lose more Clans to their cause.” Shepard was playing with the crystal again. “But he can’t let the Councils think that the Krogan, as a whole, have changed their mind about keeping the peace. Between his temper and his pride, I can’t imagine Wrex is taking this well.”

Grasping for ideas, Anya looked at Shepard, desperate. “Dad, you have to do something.”

She knew at once she’d said the wrong thing.

Anya knew most species were different from Asari. She’d yelled, sulked, thrown things when her mother explained how aging worked for almost every other species. That, even if they lived the longest lives their species could, she would outlive almost every single one of her family members. But she’d never thought her human parents looked old.

John Shepard looked old.

Her father studied her. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

His voice was quiet but certain. “I’m not the king of the galaxy, whatever claims have been made. The Krogan aren’t my people, and if they won’t listen to Wrex, they certainly won’t listen to me. I’m just one human.” She could hear what it cost him to say it. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“You beat the Reapers.”

“But I didn’t.” Shepard looked over at Traynor. “The galaxy beat the Reapers. Teamwork and loyalty and selflessness beat the Reapers.” He looked back at Anya. “It just makes a better story to say one man did it.”

A miserable silence filled the space. Traynor closed the report, lips tight in displeasure. Anya kneeled in front of her dad, trying to think of how to fix this.

The sound of the front door opening pulled everyone’s attention. Kaidan’s steady footsteps as he crossed the main room, faltering as he saw Traynor’s tense expression. “Sam?”

Traynor held up the datapad. “Have you heard?”

Coming around the wall, Kaidan took in the three of them. “Heard what?” He smiled, not as big as he might have, at his daughter. “Sweetheart?”

“Some Krogan killed a bunch of Salarians,” Anya explained. “There’s worry about escalation.”

Kaidan looked at Shepard. “How much worry?”

“It just happened,” Shepard said. “The diplomats have to be working overtime.”

Traynor offered the datapad. “Here’s the STG report, along with a bunch of personal messages about how our Commander is a dick.”

Anya watched Kaidan’s jaw clench and felt the knot inside loosen, just a little. People loved to tell her how scary Commander Shepard could be, but she knew her dad was the gentle soul of their family. Uncle Kaidan could and would level Aralakh Company if he wanted, and she could imagine Jack’s protective rage.

But that was later.

Kaidan ignored the proffered datapad. He sat down next to Shepard, attention entirely on his husband. “John?”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to.”

That’s what she should have said. Shepard’s whole body relaxed as he leaned into Kaidan, calm creeping in. “We should talk to Wrex. See how he’s taking this.”

“I bet our Comms Specialist can handle that.” Kaidan held up a hand as Traynor moved to open her omni-tool. “But how about we do dinner, first?” He glanced at Anya. “Been a while since we had spaghetti.”

Anya nodded enthusiastically. “I love spaghetti!”

“But does it go with trifle?” It was almost a joke, Shepard’s voice light. Kaidan raised an eyebrow.

Anya sat back on her heels. “What’s trifle?”

“Trifle is the best dessert humanity has even invented,” Traynor declared. She shot the men on the floor a look. “And it goes with everything.”

Watching her dads, Kaidan wrapping his arms around Shepard as he hid his face against Kaidan’s neck, Anya stood up. She tugged on her braid, exaggerating her frown. “I don’t know. Spaghetti is pretty great. I’m not sure it needs this trifle thing.”

Traynor strode forward, raising her chin in defiance. “Well, you make your spaghetti and I’ll make my trifle, and we’ll just settle this like women.” Heading into the kitchen, she tossed over her shoulder “no boys allowed in the kitchen tonight”.

“Yeah,” Anya agreed, stalking away, “we got this.” She felt more of that horrible feeling dissipate as Kaidan chuckled.

Traynor was opening cupboards and critiquing the available supplies. Anya wandered over to where the pasta had been kept since she was eleven, pulling out the bin with thinner noodles and trying to remember if she was supposed to boil the water before or after she added them. The low sound of her dads talking, Kaidan recounting the highlights of his day, was a comforting kind of white noise.

“Anya.”

Anya looked at Traynor. “What?”

“Any chance this kitchen has readymade custard?”

“What’s custard?”

Traynor pursed her lips. “Right. OK, then. Time to consult the extranet and use too many eggs.”

Anya peeked over the counter to check, then leaned over Traynor shoulder, as if engaged in the search for custard instructions. “Can you also check when to boil pasta?”

Traynor kept her eyes on her omni-tool. “I get the feeling we should just let Shepard do this.”

“Nope. There’s nothing he can do about us. Besides, no boys allowed.” Anya slung her arm over Traynor’s shoulder. “We got this.”

“The name ‘Shepard’ continues to inspire confidence, even when we don’t know what we’re doing."

Anya gave Traynor her most ferocious gin. “Especially when we don’t know what we’re doing.”


End file.
